I hear bells chiming. Hopefully, my little mismatched army underground can hear it, too. The lock on the door clicks in, and I smile. I take one last look in the mirror. The person that I see reflected before me is not me. I am a brave person, untamed, a free spirit. I am not the china doll that I see. I do not have pink baby cheeks and rouged lips and hair so thick with lavender pomade that it cannot even move. I do not clutch a bouquet of pink flowers in my hand nervously, and I do not wear a wedding veil like a prize. I turn away from the mirror in disgust, but I quickly spin around again for one more peek. When I still see that same, heated and pressed to perfection doll, I lift the skirt of my dress and kick the mirror. It shatters to bits, glass raining around me. Some pieces get caught in my hair, and I leave them there. I wash my face off with plenty of soap. I muss up my hair, and I add some weeds from the wilting arrangement on my dresser to the perfect bouquet in my hand. There. If I have to do this (or pretend to do this, anyway), I am going to do it Lorelei style.

Everyone that I pass in the halls bows to me. I suppose that these are Everett's mysterious courtiers. I smile, laugh, and sometimes even punch them on the arms good-naturedly. I am in a wonderful mood. When the wedding happens, Everett won't even know what hit him. When I enter the wedding hall, there is a fanfare. I curtsy, careful to dip back the leg that does not have the lethally accented garter. I join Everett at the top of the aisle. He squeezes my hand, and I squeeze it back so hard that his fingertips turn purple. I beam at him, and then bare my teeth at him once the priest isn't looking. Everett looks disgustingly dapper in his black suit with green tie. His hair is combed so freshly that I can still smell the lemongrass gel that I know he uses. His teeth are pointier than I had ever realized, and his eyes flash a strangely familiar yellow. The priest begins to speak.

"Marriage is a beautiful, emotional feeling. In marriage, you give all of yourself to your spouse. You truly love them and would sacrifice almost anything for them. With these two, beautiful young people the both of them, they have found love at a young age. This love will be strongest because young love is fresh love, and will always-"
Everett clears his throat. "Excuse me, um, sir." He beckons the priest closer and whispers in his ear. It is a sort of stage whisper, so I can hear it well. "Please, could you skip ahead? I know this sermon on marital felicity, and it is quite long." He changes the tone of his voice, so that everyone can hear. "My Lorelei is a fiesty one, and she grows bored quickly."
I glare at him, and then snap, "No." Everyone in the room gasps, shock evident upon their faces. I repeat it. "No. No, Everett. I am not your Lorelei, or Sir Traice's Lorelei, or anyone else's Lorelei. I am my own Lorelei. I do not belong to anyone, and if you think that you can control me and contain me and call me your own, then you are highly mistaken."

I smile bitterly at him, and then I whistle. I can whistle like a soldier, because Sir Pendergast taught me how when I was a young girl. Everyone stares. I laugh. Suddenly, I am covered in colored glass. Maye has shattered the entire wall behind the altar, and now she is standing in a pile over glass and lead. I hike up my skirts and retrieve the sword from my garters. Drat these stockings! I loosen my garters and yank the stockings off. They puddle in my boots, but that is at least better than wearing them. I use my sword to slash my skirt off at the knee. I imagine that I must look a scandal, stockings off and a short skirt and a sword in hand! But I don't care. My braided bun unspirals, leaving me with a thin plait wobbling in the wind. I jump on Maye's back and blow Everett a saucy kiss as we soar through the hole in the wall.